


18th century balloon

by thisismybrainrain



Series: centuries of brooding and blood [6]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: Brotp, F/F, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-04-29 19:12:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5139350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisismybrainrain/pseuds/thisismybrainrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>what if carmilla was saved from the coffin of blood?</p>
            </blockquote>





	18th century balloon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skeletonannie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skeletonannie/gifts).



> thank you to cole  
> thank you to sophie  
> thank you to possibilist for introducing me to carson through her carm fic 
> 
> thank you to creators of these characters
> 
>  
> 
> find me on tumblr: thisismybrainrain

Waltz

eighteenth century balloons -Anne Carson 

+

She felt like an eighteenth century something. Ripples of red lap against the skin of her bare legs. She did not ask for much. She did not ask for much.  
She did not- only to get out of this: the stroking death of the dark. 

They got it wrong she needed to explore not be cooped up in some coffin like this. What she’d give to have the energy to transition into her other form.  
She was saturated in it. Dirt. Even with her claws out it would not be enough.

Carmilla needed to get Ell’s face out from behind her eyelids. Scratching blunt nails against her face. Raw. Fangs punctured her lip. The healing holes stung – now only a dull throb. 

Focus on the light, focus on the light, focus on the light.

A pinhole cracked formed.

There were voices different from the ones in her head.  
Military voices. Screams. Destruction. Then only silence.

Maybe it was Maman back for round x, she’d lost count around the fourth time. Her body caving at the pressure of hands. 

She heard dull thuds. Fireworks? Bombs? What year was it? Was it Bastille day?  
Was it Ell back from the afterlife to save her?

 

Embers spread over her. It felt like cigarette ash. Oddly.  
All she could smell was her undead skin sizzling at the pressure of the ash.  
The constant cycle of undeath heal undeath heal undeath. The bugs crawling up across her scalp were more alive than any cell in her body at this moment; at any moment. 

You’re nothing but dirt Maman had told her. At least she was in the right place now. No. No. No. Only a monster. Only a monster in love with a girl.  
eternal dark was worth it for Ell. Grief for her own before; grief for Ell wherever she was now. Probably dead; Probably turned.  
Grief for the before - grief for her real mother.  
She longed to be lying in a field of lavender - poetry book between her palms. 

The pressure weighing down her was it smaller? Maybe she was descending into some other pit. 

Then she heard it. 

‘Little Willy! Watch my shoes. They’re Louboutins. Hurry up, darling.’ 

The spade was tapping on the wood and there was a weight too. Boots maybe. Then they disappeared again. Another tool passed down. The side of the coffin lid cracked. Sunlight rushed in. Carmilla squinted against the sun.  
She was seeing things. She wasn’t-  
a strong manicured hand reached in, ‘Mircalla, grip my hand.’

She reached up. She knew that voice. Her white cotton dress straining at the movement. Slack with blood. Her palm slid with wet and her fangs punctured her lip again. She did not want to cry. 

Salty tracks made their way down her cheeks. Leaving a pink clear in their wake. 

Another hand joined Mattie’s hand. Pale with short clipped nails and black polish. Could it be the hand of William the Bloody. 

Gosh if Carmilla had any semblance of power she’d want to drink the battlefield above them dry. She’d want to find the nearest hospital and raid the stores. Eat a Doctor. Something to make her innards saturated in the blood of Ell, in the blood of the sacrifices feel full of the marrow of something fresh. 

More than anything she wanted to be cleansed of this. Cleansed of all these moments. Non moments trapped inside this wooden hell. 

She was righted by Mattie’s arm gripping her back. She looked back at the deep hole. Good fucking riddens to her old residence. She leaned over and used all of her energy to spit on the second grave of her unlifetime. Spike drew his cigarette from his mouth and flicked the still burning stub into the hole.

Mattie turned to him, ‘William. We need to get her safe.’  
She laced her fingers through his and she held Carmilla to the crook of her neck. 

They poofed away in a cloud of grey. 

/

The bathroom had a blood red rug. Beneath their feet it collected the drops. Spike stepped forward drawing Carmilla up into his arms, he eased her into the bath. Mattie bought a jug to her head and let the water pour the muck from her eyelids, ears and mouth. Carmilla coughed up stale blood speckled with flecks of earth and Spike brought forward a china washbowl to help her. 

Eyes unflinching her looked at her. Her eyes were closed. He didn’t know what to say only to be honest, ‘It’s good to see you, Mirc. We’re gonna get you feeling like you again okay, darling?’

Carmilla nodded. She blinked open her eyes and looked at Mattie and said,  
‘I want to burn it. The dress. I want us to burn it.’  
‘Darling, when you’re strong again you can do it all by yourself.’  
‘No, Mattie. I can’t see it again not now. Not ever.’ 

‘She’s right, love. I’ll get a knife.’ Spike returned with kitchen knife in his hand. Mattie pulled Carmilla up and she unclipped her skirts. Spike handed Carmilla the knife. ‘I think you should do the honours, Mirc.’ 

She ripped the dress open away from her chest narrowly missing the scars above her left breast and Spike reached out and gripped her left hand, ‘Easy, love. Easy.’  
She gave him a small smile and whispered, ‘It’s good. I’ve got it.’

Mattie moved to get her some night clothes from the bedroom. 

Carmilla cut the corset of the dress jaggedly into two and handed it to Spike. 

‘Let me get dressed Squirt then we’ll watch it burn.’

‘Brilliant.’

/

They’d walked to the woods. Carmilla hoisted onto Spike’s back.  
She’d been worried about getting his jacket dirty. She knew the leather that he’d stole when he was nearly turned was his pride and joy.

He laughed, ‘Mirc, we have to burn this then we’ll worry about my the cleanliness of my hundred year old jacket.’ 

She pressed a kiss to his head.

Mattie marched infront of them.  
Carmilla could tell she was anxious. She was wearing boots. Still chanel but she knew this was so they could get stuff done and get gone. 

There were cups of milk and blood at the apartment and coffee of course full bean. Carmilla wanted to sleep or go on a hunt in panther form or read all the poetry she’d missed. Something so different. Something where she could stretch her mind. Distract her thoughts away from Maman. Away from Ell. 

Mattie lit the fire and handed the dress to Carmilla.  
Spike crouched down and let her climb down from his back. She was wearing one of his old leather jackets. It was too small and he’d handed it to her on their way out to the wood. A new start he had said. She smiled. Of course it would be punctuated by leather. 

She focused on the dress and it started to smoke harder then it burst into flames and fell to dust. Carmilla knelt by it.  
Spike had moved to put his arm around Mattie he was abnormally quiet as she watched her little sister palm the dust of what was left of Ell; of the blood of the girls she’d been unable to save. Carmilla had always been the braver one in Mattie’s eyes. She went along with Maman’s plans for an easy life because she’d lived longer. Carmilla was ruthless and emotional. Mattie had learnt to be ruthless. Clean cut. Methodical. Survival was her top priority. Dear Mircalla got swept away in matters of the heart. 

Carmilla stood and kicked at the dust. 

She turned to Mattie and Spike and said, ‘I want to leave. I want to avenge their deaths. I don’t want to eat anyone for a while. I want to go to Silas and save the girls.’

Mattie looked to Spike and back at Carmilla and nodded once, ‘If that’s what you want kitten. That’s what we’ll do.’


End file.
